


Sharing

by ametis



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-16 18:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14171394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ametis/pseuds/ametis
Summary: Post S3. Will and Hannibal live together and it sucks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PWP. I am writing two other fics and I got stuck. Then this happened.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that they don’t get along. 

They are two grown men who had only shared their spaces with others for short periods of time. And even if it had felt like they had occupied the same space, or shared one body sometimes, they had not.

It’s a challenge. 

Hannibal likes the house clean and everything in its place. Will doesn’t care much about that. He cleans and vacuums and washes clothes and dishes, but he cannot seem to remember to put things back where they belong after he uses them. 

Some days when they only exist on the edges of each other’s worlds, Hannibal can retrace Will’s day. Dishes from his meals, drying on the counter, books he read and didn’t put back on the shelf. Shoes from his walks. His phone charger, used and left on the kitchen counter. 

When before it reminded Hannibal that Will was here to stay, after six months it's simply annoying. 

Recently, screwdrivers and hammers have joined the things Hannibal finds lying around the house. The living room floor is covered with the innards of at least two boat motors. 

Hannibal steps onto something sharp one morning and cannot help the displeased sound he makes. 

Later, at breakfast he watches Will shovel food in his mouth. Will eats too quickly. That is also something Hannibal discovered only after years of knowing him; when Will is not trying to lure him in, he spends only short periods of time in the kitchen. Sometimes Hannibal finds him eating over the sink, or standing at the counter. 

Hannibal sighs. "Wondering if you have changed your tactics," he says. "Do you intend to break my neck? With all the tools on the floor it might happen soon."

Will looks up from the newspaper he is thumbing through. Not that he understands enough of the language to read it; he likes the smell of it almost as much as he likes to make Hannibal wait his turn.

"I asked you," Will says after swallowing his food. He looks at his bowl of oatmeal and fruit. "I asked you if I can do it here or if I should use the garage."

Hannibal remembers. He remembers mostly the soft look on Will's face, his damp hair from the shower. He had been ecstatic that Will had wanted to share his hobbies with him.

"I'll move the stuff, ok?" Will says after a while and hands Hannibal the newspaper. 

-

The next day everything is gone, the house once again spotless. Except when Hannibal climbs the stairs that evening and opens the bathroom door for a long shower, he finds clothes on the floor. He crouches to examine – a wet towel, underwear, and socks. 

It happens again. And again. But Hannibal keeps his thoughts to himself. This is new. So whatever Will is planning, Hannibal is not playing along. 

Then the books start to appear, which is also new, at least in frequency and the places Will chooses to leave them. 

Hannibal picks them up each time and puts them back in the shelf. 

His self-restraint lasts until he finds Will in the living room one day, the coffee table full of books, piles and piles of them. Earlier that morning, Hannibal woke up to more dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. His fingers twitch.

"Which one of these are you reading?"

Will looks up at him with wild eyes that stand out even more in his freshly tanned skin. It's like he's been waiting for this. 

Hannibal silently regrets his question. It's not like him to walk into obvious traps. Except for Will of course. He was a trap from the beginning, and from the beginning some part of Hannibal had known and hadn't cared.

"Do you want me to leave?" Will asks. He isn't wearing socks, and his shorts and the thin t-shirt are in no way appropriate for the dinner cooking in the oven, even if they are a delighful sight. 

"Of course not," Hannibal says. 

"What then?"

"I am asking you to be mindful that we share a space."

"Yeah," Will says. He lifts an eyebrow. "Same goes for you."

He is right of course, but after six months of long eventless days in a city he can’t move freely around, Hannibal cannot suppress the annoyance. He picks up the books further away from Will only to feel a nudge against his calf.

He stops and looks down. Will's foot is still on his leg. 

"I need those," Will says. 

Hannibal puts the books down and takes another pile.

"Those too," Will says. He is watching Hannibal like a hawk, so he can’t miss that Hannibal puts the books down with a little more strength than necessary.

He kicks him again. "I need all of them right here."

Something must show on Hannibal’s face; perhaps the fact that he is very close to breaking. Will, brave as always, tests it with another kick, harder than before, and Hannibal is on him in seconds. 

The book Will had across his lap, falls to the floor with a loud thump. Others follow as Hannibal bumps against the table. He manages to get hold of Will's wrists and place a knee on the couch, but Will moves to the side in time to avoid his teeth. 

"You have got to be kidding me," Will growls. He kicks Hannibal again and again until Hannibal moves that last inch and closes his teeth around the soft skin on Will's neck. That is when Will goes still under him, his heartbeat a wild thing under Hannibal's tongue. He makes a hurt sound when Hannibal lets go and bites again, a little closer to his ear.

"Stop," he says. 

The itch under Hannibal's skin is barely sated. If anything, he feels a bottomless hunger stir in his body. One that he can't satisfy with food, or bloodshed and slaughter.

It’s only asking for Will. 

He leans up over Will, looks at the bite on his neck. There is no blood, only spit and marks that will fade soon. 

Will still looks ready to punch him in the face, eyes stormy and mouth a hard line. 

Hannibal tries to kiss the anger away. He doesn't understand why he can't help himself. Control comes easily to him. Usually. This time it comes back to him at the tension he feels in Will's body, then the strength with which Will pulls at the grip on his wrists. Hannibal leans up but not fast enough to avoid a bite at his mouth, quick and vicious. 

He makes a deep sound. 

"Of course you’d like that," Will says, more to himself than Hannibal by the sound of it. "Hannibal," he says louder. "Let me go."

Hannibal does. His body feels hot everywhere he touched Will. There is heat in his belly, the first signs of arousal. He takes a step back. Then another.

"I apologize," he says. "I overreacted."

"Yeah," Will says. He rubs at the bite on his neck.

"I didn't break the skin," Hannibal says. "Ice should be enough to soothe it."

"Thanks," Will says drily. He picks up the book from the floor, puts his legs up on the coffee table and keeps on reading. 

Hannibal takes the hint and leaves him alone. 

When dinner is done and Hannibal goes back to look for him, Will is asleep on the couch, one hand still pressed to his neck. 

What a strange creature. Even after all these years, Hannibal still feels like he doesn't know enough of him to predict his actions. He touches Will's soft hair and puts a blanket over him. 

In the dining room, he sits alone at the table and wonders what Will would have told him about his day had they shared this meal.

Another time then. 

-

The books start to appear in every room; the kitchen and dining room, the hall, once on the stairs. Will even takes them out in the garden where he lies in the hammock and reads until Hannibal calls him for dinner or he falls asleep.

They don't talk about the kiss or the bite. 

It's as if it hadn't happened at all, except that Hannibal catches Will looking at his mouth more often now. His gaze is calculating too; he must be waiting for another confrontation. 

Why else would he leave books in the bathroom, the pages wet after his shower?

"Is there something you want from me?" Hannibal asks one afternoon in the garden.

Will looks at him silently for a while, so that Hannibal has to focus not to let his gaze fall to the splay of his thighs and the naked bit of skin above the waistband of his shorts where his t-shirt has ridden up. Then as Will keeps holding his gaze he throws caution to the wind, and with that appropriacy as well. He lets his gaze drop, just to have Will shake his head. 

"No," he says and drops his book into the grass when he gets up. 

Hannibal picks it up and follows him inside the house.

In the kitchen, Will has a drink at the sink and Hannibal is standing so close behind him that he can see the sweat along his hairline on the back of his neck.

Will turns, small of his back against the counter and cool glass of water in his hand. "Wondering what this says about you?" he murmurs. "Control freak might be just too easy an answer."

"Careful."

"Or what?"

Now Hannibal is the one placing the book where it doesn't belong, on the counter behind Will. He puts his free hand beside it and lifts the other one to Will's neck, where he bit him. The skin is unmarked. There were no bruises to begin with but Hannibal likes to imagine them on the smooth skin.

Will snorts. Then his breath leaves him in a gasp. 

Hannibal's teeth around the soft flesh on his neck are the reason for it. “I believe you like this,” Hannibal concludes when he moves away. 

“Not as much as you do,” Will says. “And not for the same reason.”

"What reason would that be?" Hannibal wonders. He takes the glass from Will and puts it in the sink behind him. 

"God, you're ridiculous," Will says and pushes against him, only Hannibal is ready for it and doesn't budge. Their bodies touch from shoulders to knees. There is heat between them, lazy at first, then turning more urgent with a push of hips. 

Hannibal hates to admit he is the one to have pushed, but he doesn't dwell too long on that feeling when he hears Will's responding gasp. He focuses on the scent of him this close; fresh sweat and sun-warm skin. The last traces of his body wash and shampoo. He inhales loudly again and again, presses his nose to soft skin and rough stubble.

Will's grip on the counter turns white-knuckled. "You think this is a good idea?"

"I am clearly no longer thinking." The press of his erection against Will might be crude, but it delivers the message clearly.

"Jesus, Hannibal."

There is interest in Will’s body too. Hannibal can feel the heat of an erection against his thigh, the beginnings of it. He presses against it more firmly and revels in the shocked little gasp that leaves Will's mouth.

"Fuck, I'm not sure," Will whispers, then he can't speak at all, and Hannibal is delighted to discover that his hands have that effect on him. He spreads them on Will's shoulders first, then the strong lines of his back, and down to his hips and thighs. The firmness of his buttocks makes Hannibal's teeth ache. He satisfies that hunger by kneading the flesh and sinking his nails in to the sound of Will’s stuttering breath that feels like applause. 

Desire rises in his chest and requires action. Without warning, Hannibal lifts Will onto the counter. The book he tosses further away from them.

“Ah,” Will says, leaning back on his hands. A feast before Hannibal. “So it’s not about books or clothes,” he says. “Does it frustrate you that I am so close and still not what you would like me to be?”

Hannibal bites him once more, quick and soft, before dropping his mouth to place a kiss on his thigh, just where his shorts have ridden up. They’re too short and taut across Will's thighs and his erection. There is a visible jerk as Hannibal keeps watching.

His mouth waters so he puts it on Will to feel him through the thin material. 

“Fuck,” Will gasps. He jerks against Hannibal's hands, then pulls him up with a fist in his hair. "Wait." He pulls the strings loose and pushes his shorts out of the way. Just enough to bare himself to Hannibal's hunger. His reaction when Hannibal takes him in his mouth is lovely. His body tightens all over, his voice reduced to gasps and groans. Hannibal tries to ignore the train of thought that prompts him to imagine if Will was on the receiving end of this particular act often in the last three years. 

Not that it matters; Hannibal is more suited to give this to Will, to make it good for him. He'd take anything from him. 

He stops and pushes Will bodily into one of the chairs so he can kneel at his feet. He starts and stops until the tiniest touch makes Will shake. Hannibal might not get another chance for this so he feasts on Will.

“Goddamn it,” Will gasps. “How can even this be so fucking hard –”

Hannibal sucks the tip of his cock into his mouth, tightens his grip on him. 

“Should’ve known,” Will gasps. He lets his head hang. His shorts are around his ankles now and sweat shines on his skin. 

“Don't your knees hurt?" 

“Not too much.”

“Is this punishment?”

“Not at all,” Hannibal says. “You will get what you want, Will. I promise.” He puts his mouth on Will's testicles, feels them lift. Lovely. His mouth finds its way back to the tip of Will’s erection. He sucks him in and starts a quick rhythm that he intends to stop again soon, but Will puts gentle fingers in his hair and makes the most delightful moans yet, deep and breathy. His voice is trembling when he starts speaking.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes yes yes.” 

And then it’s too late to stop. There is a rush of heat at the back of Hannibal’s throat and a deep groan in his ears. The sound is almost enough to push Hannibal over the edge as well. The taste comes closer to manage that; Hannibal pulls back a little to catch the last spurts on his tongue and has to reach down between his legs and unbuckles his pants. He does it just in time. With Will still in his mouth and his desperate gasps loud and clear, one touch is enough to set off Hannibal’s own release. 

He shudders through it while he licks Will clean. 

There is silence afterwards, loud without Will’s gasps or the sound of Hannibal’s mouth on him. Will breaks it with a deep laugh. He puts his face in his hands, then touches his softening cock, almost protectively. 

The pride Hannibal feels at that overrides the pain in his legs. He stands only to pull out the closest chair and sit down, waiting patiently for the numbness in his legs to disappear.

Will is the one to move. He pulls his shorts up around his thighs and walks over to the sink where he wets paper towels. 

"I can't believe you did that," he says while cleaning himself with careful touches, his back to Hannibal. "I can't believe I let you do that." He pulls his shorts up and walks over to Hannibal, handing him a wet paper towel as well.

Hannibal takes it. "Why not?"

Will ignores the question. “You wanted this for a while,” he says thoughtfully. 

Hannibal nods.

“Was it everything you imagined?”

“More,” Hannibal says as he buttons his pants and puts the rest of his clothes in order. His mouth, judging by Will’s staring, looks as used as it feels. 

Will drags his gaze up to meet his eyes. He takes the used paper towel from Hannibal and disposes of it. When he returns he puts cool fingers on Hannibal's cheek.

“Kiss me?” Hannibal asks. 

Will bends down and does. A soft press of lips, quick and gentle at first, then lingering, as if Will discovers that he likes it more than he thought he would. 

Hannibal smiles into it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka the edging blowjobs fic

It turns out that Will can remember to put things away. Hannibal discovers this with a sense of loss so severe that it's unsettling.

After a week or so, he starts missing the mess, or rather the reminders that Will is still here, still with him: his body, a landscape of scars and tanned skin, rough stubble and wild hair. His mind quick and lovely. The vulnerable places he wants to protect, the strength he is so careful with. In the mornings his voice is deep, husky if they talk late into the night.

Not that that happens often now. They live in a strange state of uncertainty. In the time he has known Will there have been many befores and afters between them — betrayal and forgiveness, old lives and new beginnings — but nothing has been as stinging as the silence now. Or as jarring as Will's kiss then the coldness in his eyes.

Hannibal has the childish urge to throw the cup he is holding against the nearest wall and watch it shatter. Something to entertain him during his lack of vigor. He feels ancient; the proverbial old dog with its old tricks. His days seem to consist of waiting. Waiting for a word from Will, or his clothes on the bathroom floor. Anything. 

The only thing that hasn’t changed is Will's scent, lingering in every room even in his absence.

Hannibal focuses on it like a hound, lets it lead him now, a hook in the center of his brain. The effects on him are disastrous; an elevated heartbeat and razor-sharp determination.  
He finds Will on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him and leaving a lot of skin on display. 

In the short moments of intimacy between them, there has been no room for hesitation. Hannibal stays away from it now. He puts one hand on Will's thigh and finds space for himself between strong legs, kneeling once again.

It feels like he has been kneeling for a long time.

Will's scent is stronger this close, clean and soothing. Hannibal presses his face into the source of it and inhales.

The world becomes a bright place.

That is until Will speaks. "Hannibal," he says exasperated.

Hannibal would have ignored it on any other day. Today he doesn't seem to have control of his body and mind. "Don't you want to?" he asks with too raw a voice.

Will's legs tighten a little against Hannibal's sides, as if to close. Or perhaps to keep him close. 

"I haven't touched a man before," Will says. "Slow down."

"And you still haven't," Hannibal reminds him.

Will watches him for a few silent moments, eyes narrowing. His limp arms come up slowly. Hot hands find Hannibal's shoulders. 

That is new. To know that Will runs hot, always, not only when his brain is on fire. Hannibal keeps it close to his heart like a secret.

"Am I unfair?" Will asks. "Am I cruel with my honesty?"

"You are just how I want you," Hannibal reassures him. "I'm not asking anything of you other than patience and indulgence." He puts his mouth on Will's crotch to demonstrate what he means, relishing the jump of muscle that might display desire someday, or at the very least interest.

If Will were a different man, Hannibal would worry about boundaries. But only then.

"That frightens me," Will says. His chest shakes with short breaths. "You'll do it," he says. "You'll ask for more.”

There is nothing to be gained by lies here, so Hannibal nods. "Yes," he says, "might even ask to have you inside me."

A moan gets stuck in Will's throat.

In the end, his body is animal, like everybody else's, even if it resembles that of Gods. Stimuli makes it light up — Hannibal’s hands on his thighs to satisfy his baser needs, his voice to feed Will’s imaginative mind. Saying the right things comes easy, especially when the reward is Will, stripped out of his clothes this time, all his skin laid out for Hannibal.

His mouth waters, a perfect space for Will's swollen cock. It's an effort to fit all of him inside. But Hannibal's hunger knows no bounds when it comes to pleasure, either Will’s or his own. 

The tip is sensitive to any touch, no matter if gentle or a little too hard. If Hannibal could be honest without his sharp edges, he would do it. Spare Will for once. Except that it wouldn't be the same. He wouldn't be the same and Will would know. 

Perhaps he'd even want to stop. 

Hannibal doesn't like that idea.

Will closes his eyes at the repeated sharp kisses Hannibal presses to the head of his cock, and Hannibal lets him. Lets him have this with no distraction at all. Better to take in every detail of his anxious pleasure anyway: the sweat at his temples and chest, the flush of his skin, his open mouth. His hips thrust up once before he stops himself as if he doesn't think he deserves this simple thing.

A feast before Hannibal that fills him with one purpose. There is no room for any other thought than that to have this for as long as possible.

Slowly, he pulls away.

“Don't,” Will gasps, lifting his hips in search for more of the same. “No, no, no,” he begs.

Hannibal lets him go before he can finish and Will slumps back into the cushions with a heavy sigh. His cock is full and wet. All because of Hannibal's love. Funny really that his begging makes Hannibal want to prolong this for as long as possible. Would Will still do it if he knew how counterproductive it is for him?

One part of Hannibal believes that he might, that he has figured out how lovely he sounds while he does it. The other sees his arousal for what it is: animal and urgent and demanding. A reaction to stimulation. Simple as the breath in their lungs. Hannibal wins either way. His aim is to please, to drink up Will's pleasure. 

Still, he waits and watches a clear drop of pre-ejaculate slide down Will's cock. “Just a little longer, Will,” he promises and puts a strong grip around the base when he can't wait longer and leans in again.

Will groans. “Do you like doing this?” he asks. “Or do you like doing it to me?” His voice is a beautiful thing, deep with need and impatience. Not a surprise; it has always translated his emotions delightfully into sound. 

Hannibal listens to the music of breath and its absence, and hopes to hear it again someday. He pulls back only when it changes in rhythm. Quicker and louder than before. “I asked for patience, didn't I?”

Will drops his hands from his face, his teeth remain in the plump flesh of his lower lip for a while longer, leaving beautiful indentations. With a little more force they'd be bloody.

“You asked for indulgence as well.”

“That,” Hannibal gives him a tight quick stroke, “comes later.” 

Will's body surges up with the movement of Hannibal's hand, then slumps down again. An instrument for Hannibal to test his hunger on. 

Tension slowly drains from Will's body when Hannibal stops touching him, although a low level of it remains and makes Will unable to sit still. There is a wild look in his eyes and sweat on the soft skin between his thighs. 

“You're a lot to handle.” Will looks down at Hannibal’s hands on his knees. “Even here.”

“Right now I am easy,” Hannibal says. “I only want one thing.” He inhales the scent around them, and his own body and its arousal come into focus, not as urgent as the task at  
hand though, so he leans in, and spreads Will's thighs with his shoulders. Something his entire body has to work for. He expects the recoil and is quick to grab the hands pushing at his head. His teeth scrape soft skin, and Will freezes.

“Hey,” he says weakly, both wrists caught in Hannibal's hands. “Come on, please.”

It takes a while until he stops pulling at Hannibal's hold but it's a temporary thing. He tenses up with each new movement, protective of the most vulnerable parts of his body.  
Hannibal gives him a break, moves up to take his cock into his mouth again, and Will sighs. He freezes again when Hannibal moves lower, testing the weight and fullness of his testicles with his tongue. And lower still. Something to stall his release with its novelty. 

Will's thighs press hard against Hannibal's sides, his wrists testing the strength of Hannibal's grip. His body is full of life; shaking and moving, jumping when Hannibal's tongue finds the puckered skin of his hole. 

Just a touch and back up again, nosing his way up.

Hannibal loses count of how often he moves up and down again, but soon he can let go of one wrist and use his hand to push Will's legs a little more apart. Soon Will is wet enough that a finger might fit inside him with no trouble at all. 

The patience Hannibal has asked for is there, although interrupted by shaking thighs and jerking hips. He wonders when Will is going to figure out that Hannibal wouldn't mind a little force, that he doesn't have to take this without his own input. A rough fist in Hannibal's hair would have almost the same effect as Will's gentle touch does.

To have that need directed at him would be immensely satisfying.

He pulls back just in time to watch Will struggle through another almost-peak, his skin slicked with sweat and spit and pre-ejaculate.

Shattering tea cups is far from Hannibal’s mind. 

“You have me depending on you,” Will pants. “Is that what you wanted?” He doesn’t mean something as simple as a mouth and a hard cock. He means the house and their dive into the ocean and whatever the gnawing depth of feeling in Hannibal’s chest feels like to Will. 

Hannibal could say a million things and none of them would be enough. For the first time in his life, he keeps them to himself and goes back to sucking and licking until he has Will so worked up that he comes while Hannibal is mouthing at his shaft. A soft, barely there touch.

It's spectacular. Some of it splashes across Hannibal's nose and cheek. He keeps watching, afraid to miss any of Will: eyes closed mouth open hands fisted in the cushion under him. His lovely pink cock jerks with each spurt. 

Then all at once, Will moves into action. “Fuck,” he says, long and breathy, and reaches down to jerk himself through the last of it when he realizes that Hannibal won't do such a thing. He pushes his hips down against Hannibal’s thumb at his perineum, too, lost in pleasure. 

Hannibal waits until he is certain Will is done, then leans in to lick him clean.

Will howls. “Stop,” he gasps, his fingers claw-like now, pushing determinedly.

Hannibal drags the flat of his tongue along the underside of the shaft, pointing it the closer he gets to the head. The final short touch, a treat. Full of Will's flavor.

Then he stands and looks down at his doing. His legs are numb again. And again he is the one to reach for his slacks to unbutton them. He doesn't expose himself. Just silently takes his pleasure at the sight before him.

His orgasm drains him so much that he has to sit down.

The room is filled with their combined scent and the sound of light rain.

Will is silent again.


	3. Chapter 3

The flow of time is fascinating, cruel in its uncaring nature, going forward without any concern for what is in its path and twisting memories until they barely resembled the truth. 

Hannibal has not been affected by the latter, but he has spent a good portion of his life wondering about its substance and how he could unravel it. Not out of the looming threat of old age and death, but out of love. First as a boy, then unexpectedly as a man. 

Will saw to that.

Now time is slow. A second seems longer to him than it can logically be. Hannibal counts out a minute before checking his watch to see that the clockhand has barely moved.

Self-disgust is not a feeling he engages in usually. But there it is, thick at the back of his throat. It spurs him into action.

He shaves and showers, puts on a linen shirt and slacks that are acceptable for the weather, soft loafers. His watch he leaves on the dresser.

Outside, the sun is already too warm, promising a hot day. Hannibal decides to put the car roof down for the short ride. 

-

In the old center of the town people have gathered for the weekend market and the sun. Hannibal sits outside a café and closes his eyes behind sunglasses. He is delighted to discover that he is surrounded by people in hats and light clothes to accommodate the weather. He is one in many.

The coffee and croissants are good. A breeze finds its way around his table, a welcome relief in the warm sun. People leave him alone with his newspaper. 

Will wouldn't. Will would want to have it first. He would—

Hannibal deliberately stops that train of thoughts. He stands and pays with a generous tip. The café was entertaining enough. For a while. 

The streets around the market are blessedly void of cars. Hannibal walks up to a small shop selling scarfs. Not a good business for the coming months, he assumes. Most of them are out of season, patterns old and colorless. He finds two silk handkerchiefs he likes, light blue and deep green, and thanks the woman behind the register with a charming smile to counter the fact that he doesn’t take his sunglasses and hat off. He doubts he is the first to be so rude, though. 

“Can you recommend a place for a good lunch?”

She writes down the address on a piece of paper and hands it to him with an explanation how he can reach it. It's close to where he's parked the car, which makes this lovely morning even better. A plan forms in his head; he’ll buy fruits and vegetables first, then see if the woman has a good enough palate or not.

Back at the market, Hannibal looks at the fruit stand — plums, apples, mangos. He can’t decide. The nectarines look good, too. He picks one up and holds it close to his face. A vast field of nectarine trees blooms before his eyes, the scent green like freshly cut grass, and sweet like the fruit in his hand must be. The branches hang low in the sun, heavy and full.

The image dissolves when someone bumps into Hannibal roughly. He loses hold of the small bag with the handkerchiefs tucked under his arm, and drops the nectarine. It rolls under the stand. There is a hiss of words behind his back, no apology but an accusation of his looks and manners. 

Hannibal turns just in time to see; a bearded man who gives him one last sharp look over his shoulder as he hurries along. Hannibal watches until he sees which stand the man goes to, then he turns around to apologize for the lost nectarine. He buys more than he really needs, and asks for a bag where he can put all his things in one place. He'll need his hands free.

Many of the stands offer clear plastic gloves. Thin and flimsy but purposeful. Hannibal takes two and puts them on carefully. It doesn’t look out of place among all the others who do it too. 

The stand the man works at offers flowers. By the looks of it he must've arrived late. Half of the stand is still empty, and the man keeps crossing through the crowd to get to a van. There’re lovely orchids and roses and small pots of forget-me-nots already laid out. Hannibal takes a small delicate branch of the forget-me-nots and holds it up. The color reminds him of Will’s eyes on a clear day. 

Such a shame that the person who cares for these flowers is so profoundly unlike them. 

Hannibal puts the flower in his breast pocket and follows the man to the shadowed space behind the van. Inside, there’re rows of pots and boxes lined up along the sides. The man tries to carry three boxes at once and curses.

It's fate, Hannibal thinks, the stagger in the man's step that causes him to lose balance and trip. His head connects with the edge of one box, making him slow to sit up.

Hannibal doesn't stop to think or consider any consequences. He is quick, two steps and his hands are around the man's jaw. He spares a thought about the flowers. Who’ll take care of them? Then there’s the satisfying crack of bones breaking. Hannibal closes his eyes for a brief moment and steps away as quickly as he came in.

It's a pity that he can't do anything with the body other than to leave it lying on the floor of the van. The flowers would've made beauty where the man only had ugliness to give. Hannibal can see it clearly in his head, flowers in his chest, flowers in his mouth where his tongue used to be. 

A pity.

Hannibal stops on his way through the crowd when the scent of watermelon grows stronger. He spots the stand that offers them, and is quick to decide this time. Soon someone will discover that there is no one at one particular stand and go investigating. Hannibal can't have the crowd of curious onlookers blocking his way.

He drives past the restaurant the woman recommended on his way home and slows down to take a look. Another time then.

-

The house is quiet when Hannibal returns. Dark after the brightness of the sun. He finds his tablet used and left on the kitchen table. It’s like an itch at the back of his neck, but he ignores it. He puts the things he bought down on the counter and washes his hands. An idea for lunch came easily once he found the good slice of watermelon earlier. 

He is looking for feta cheese is in the fridge when he feels eyes on him. “Hello Will,” he says before turning around.

Will stands at the door, the darkened hallway behind him. 

Warmth and joy stir in Hannibal's chest, unbidden. A wave of it, stronger now that Hannibal tried to ignore them before. Whatever Will feels for him, whatever made him decide one way and not the other again and again, Hannibal doubts it is anything close to the gnawing depth of compassion and desire he feels each time he looks at Will. 

“Did you have a good day?” he says and goes back to preparing lunch. Foolish to think he could resist the pull, or could distract himself enough to forget about it. They are one of the same, parts of one whole. Even in the few hours, Will was never far from Hannibal's thoughts. 

That irritates Hannibal more than any mess in the house could. Where has all his patience gone? 

Will shrugs. “And you?” he asks and comes closer. His eyes take in everything at once; the food Hannibal is preparing, his shopping bag, the forget-me-nots in his breast pocket.

“I did,” Hannibal says. “A local shop owner recommended a place for lunch or dinner plans.”

Will looks at the watermelon cubes Hannibal puts carefully on one plate. “Why didn't you go?”

“An opportunity presented itself for a different path.” The crack of bones echoes in Hannibal's head and makes him smile. “Perhaps we could go together.” 

Will's gaze is heavy on him, trying to see everything Hannibal isn’t saying, and succeeding if his sudden stillness is any indication. His next exhale carries a bitter laugh. “I don't think that's a good idea,” he says, stepping closer still. The tone of his voice makes Hannibal almost shudder. He suppresses it, naturally, and waits for a conclusion. 

“The longer I know you,” Will says, “the more I see that you simply cannot blend in.”

Hannibal smiles. What a clever boy. “I killed a man today,” he agrees.

“Tell me why you thought that was a good idea?”

The lemon juice and olive oil he is mixing can wait a moment. Hannibal turns to look at Will. “I rid the world of a disastrously rude man.” His upper lip curls in distaste. Even now long after the fact, Hannibal's skin prickles at the shove and sharp words. “If I hadn’t been restricted by our circumstances, I would be preparing a part of him for you now.” He turns to the food and reaches for the salt and pepper. 

“You simply couldn't resist,” Will says after a while. “In broad daylight.”

“A freak accident,” Hannibal reassures him. “He slipped and fell, breaking his neck.” He wishes he could see the images Will’s mind creates from that. “He was a florist,” he adds. The flowers are the best thing about it. Are roses as bright as fresh blood in Will’s mind, or dark?

“Nobody will buy that,” Will says absentmindedly. He sits down at the table and watches Hannibal for a long time, but turns away once Hannibal puts a plate in front of him — watermelon and feta cheese cubes on a skewer, black olives and lean meat.

“Eat,” Hannibal says.

It takes a while, but Will slowly picks up his fork. 

-

In the morning, Will is the first up. He is waiting for Hannibal in the kitchen. “Do we have to leave?” he asks.

“No.” Hannibal pours them both coffee and brings one cup to Will who looks tired and pale. The skin under his eyes is puffy. Hannibal touches it with the back of one finger. “Nightmares kept you awake.” His finger slides down over Will's cheek and chin. “You should have stayed with me.”

“I dreamed about you,” Will says. He is looking up at Hannibal, not pulling away. Perhaps he is trying to convince himself that this isn't a nightmare. 

“What did I do?”

“You killed a man.” Will looks down when Hannibal starts touching his mouth, a slow drag of his thumb over his lower lip.

“It had to be done,” Hannibal says. He is a little breathless at how soft Will’s mouth feels under his touch. "Hardly something new.”

Will nods and looks up at him again, his eyes as bright as the forget-me-nots Hannibal left on the kitchen window sill. “I still didn't want to leave.”

Oh, the struggle, to know and not do anything in response. Perhaps Hannibal could keep his future killings for himself, rid Will of the responsibility to act. But honesty was hard-earned between them. They couldn’t do without it. They wouldn't be themselves without it, and what would that bring them other than more betrayal?

“Will,” Hannibal says and leans down for a kiss.

“No,” Will murmurs against his mouth even as he kisses back. There is desperate touch to his kiss. He stops only when Hannibal's hands slide down his sides and pull him off the chair to press their bodies together into a line of heat.

“No,” Will says again, breathless. “Please don’t.” 

Hannibal takes a step back and nods.

It's going to be a long day.

-

Hannibal pays close attention to the news in the following weeks, but there is nothing interesting to find. His days pass similar to that Saturday morning at the market. Will is his constant companion even when Hannibal is out for hours, alone. Mornings are his favorite part of the day. The sunlit kitchen and the backyard, Will close and still soft from sleep. He watches Hannibal with unabashed hunger then, and Hannibal sometimes doesn't know what to do with himself other than to go for a long walk. 

One such morning Hannibal looks back. They're outside, in the sunlight filtered through the leaves of the backyard trees. The little round table they use for this comes in useful; they sit close together, the warmth coming off Will a distraction. 

Hannibal gives up and basks in it.

Neither of them moves although the dishes are ready to be cleared, empty and stacked. 

Will takes one more spoonful of strawberry jam. He doesn't like anything sweet except for this. Hannibal sees him as a child, not allowed to have more than the bit on his bread, or perhaps not having it for months on end. Something for special occasions when money wasn’t tight. That’s how he eats it now, careful and slow. 

He looks at Hannibal afterwards. “What's on your mind?” he asks.

“You,” Hannibal says without looking away politely like he did in the last couple of weeks. Right now he feels ravenous. Politeness is the last thing on his mind. 

Will is the one to break eye contact, his expression caught somewhere between flustered and angry. He hadn't expected the blunt truth, but he takes to it beautifully — skin flushing, hands suddenly moving up to his neck, through his hair and over his chin with a short breathless laugh.

It reminds Hannibal of that first meal they shared in a small stuffy motel room. How little has changed since then, and how much at the same time.

When Will looks back at Hannibal, there is no trace of amusement left in his features. His eyes darken the longer he looks at Hannibal. Memories must come quickly to him, in vivid colors and sensations.

Hannibal feeds into them. “I want you in my mouth,” he says. The audible intake of breath from Will is pure music to his ears. He intends to say more, but Will reaches out to him with a careful touch. His fingers taste of strawberry jam. 

Hannibal doesn't move, just lets Will touch his lips then push inside. Fingertips move over the edges of his teeth, over his tongue. 

“You're so soft here,” Will says as if to himself. He pushes two fingers under Hannibal's tongue, and pulls away slowly. Too slowly. Hannibal catches his fore and middle finger between his teeth and sucks them back into his mouth.

The deep groan from Will only spurs him on. He closes his eyes in delight and goes down until he feels the second knuckle under his teeth. When he opens them again, it's to see Will's other hand disappear under the table. 

Their eyes meet and Will pulls away. 

Hannibal is left with a deep ache in his chest and dishes to take care off.

-

The oldest church in town is a sight to behold. Its Romanesque architecture leaves Hannibal itching for pencil and paper. Inside it's cool and dark, especially after a lunch out at the lovely restaurant the woman from the scarf shop recommended. 

It turns out she has a sophisticated palate. 

Hannibal sits in the back row and takes in the arches and sturdy pillars on both sides of him. He could've moved up to the first row if he wanted to; apart from an old couple at the front, the church is empty, the door wide open to welcome anyone searching for forgiveness or hope. Not that Hannibal is looking for either of those things. A little shadow and the blessed coldness of old stones will do for now.

He closes his eyes, hat and sunglasses in his lap, and listens to the noises of a lazy afternoon outside: unfamiliar voices and laughter in passing, someone with high-heeled shoes hurrying, a bicycle bell. It’s all very dull until one noise stands out. Footsteps. Confident and slow, coming closer until they stop next to Hannibal.

“Are you praying?” 

Hannibal can't stop his mouth from curving into a soft smile at the sound of Will's voice. He looks up to find him standing close enough to touch. With the pillars behind him he looks like a saint. 

What a delightful surprise.

“No,” Hannibal says. “But I see it worked anyway.” He watches Will struggle with that, a hand on his neck, eyes averted and mouth open, ready to speak. In the end, Will keeps his thoughts to himself and sits down next to Hannibal. 

“I wish you had joined me earlier,” Hannibal says. “The restaurant was excellent. I'm considering a visit to thank the nice lady who recommended it to me.”

“Don't,” Will says with finality. He inhales loudly and is close enough for Hannibal to feel his arm move. “Better when no one remembers you.”

“And you.”

Will nods. “Us,” he agrees. Then shakes his head. “People do remember us. Hannibal the Cannibal. And me.” He lowers his voice further. “On the run with the serial killer I tried to catch.” The grin on his face is bitter. They both know he doesn't care enough about what he is saying, or he wouldn’t be here, so Hannibal leaves it hanging in the air around them until it vanishes.

Will looks around. “I saw your broken heart in a place like this.”

“I left it to be found.”

“Who was he?”

Hannibal recalls the quick smile on Antony Dimmond’s face, the easiness with which he accepted Dr. Fell’s disappearance. There had been no horror in his eyes where Will's would've been wide and unblinking. No sharp cleverness that would reveal every last secret Hannibal carried with him. “No one,” Hannibal says. “Nothing like you.”

‘You've got me up on a pedestal,” Will says. “A fall is inevitable.”

“There were many.” Hannibal recalls all their – differences in opinion, to put it mildly. “Yet you climbed back up every time.” 

Will looks straight ahead, silent.

“Do you want me on my knees to prove it?” Hannibal asks. It has the desired effect of making Will’s hands twitch in his lap as he looks over at him. Will isn’t flustered exactly, but unmistakably reminded that if he’d want something like that it's only a word away.

“A plea from a broken-hearted man?” Hannibal adds. He is not entirely serious, but the smile lifting one corner of his mouth seems to make Will consider the offer. It certainly delays the clear rejection that's to be expected. Will’s eyes drop to Hannibal's mouth. His pupils are wide with a clear ring around them.

Lovely. 

Hannibal takes his hand with the intention of leading him to one of the side entrances and out to show him the stone stairs that go to the lake nearby.

Will doesn’t know that. He mistakes their hurried steps. His hand tenses in Hannibal's, he pulls a little. The hissed protest comes only belatedly. “This isn't the place,” he says, then stops. There is genuine surprise on his face when Hannibal merely opens the door and lets him step out first.

“Have you been to the lake?” Hannibal asks nonchalantly. 

Will looks down the stairs and presses his lips together. He looks amused. “No. Have you?”

“Yes, it's very beautiful.” Hannibal leads the way. His eyes keep going back to Will's face in the light. He’s wearing a cap to shield his eyes from the sun and too curious looks. The more Hannibal looks, the darker Will’s expression becomes. By the end of the slow walk, Will is taking deep breaths. His hands are in his pockets. 

“There’re boats one can rent,” Hannibal says.

Will nods. 

The small white boat rental hut comes into view quickly, its red roof visible from afar. At the wide window, the old man Hannibal spoke to last time takes the money Hannibal offers for two hours for one of his boats. He’s too invested in his work to look up too long from it, counts out the change slowly. 

Hannibal declines it and looks over the parts of a boat motor lined up neatly in front of the man. Hannibal has seen some of them on the living room floor not too long ago. 

He thanks the man and walks over to where Will is looking at the row of boats.

“Which one?” Hannibal asks.

Will chooses a white one with blue stripes and brown paddles. They step in carefully and sit facing each other. Will rows them into the open lake with ease. 

Above them the clear sky stretches endlessly. On the water, they only encounter birds and ducks. Hannibal imagines that later in the evening and on weekends it must be full of people. Now, it seems like they’re the only souls left in the world. 

“Did you really think I would do that?” Hannibal says after a while. He knows that Will understands by the way his head jerks to the side, away from Hannibal’s gaze.

“For a second,” he admits reluctantly.

“Would you have allowed it?” Hannibal watches Will's lips twitch, the bulging of his biceps. “I think you would have.” The thought fills him with joy. It’s not that the place matters to either of them, not in the same sense it matters to others. It’s Will, wanting it enough to allow it. 

Will keeps rowing.

“Could you steer us to the big tree over there?” Hannibal says and puts one hand on Will's shin. There is no mistaking what Hannibal plans to do once they're on shore, but Will doesn't hesitate as he adjusts their course, the tendons in his neck standing out, the muscles in his forearms shifting. 

Hannibal wants him with his whole being.

A delicious sense of anticipation grips him. He revels in the fact that they both know what is about to happen, that once they reach the tree Will is helping him out of the boat so he can have it, looking around to make sure they're alone.

It's enough to make Hannibal’s blood boil.

They cross the rocky part of the shore in big steps, pulling the boat onto it, and find a shaded spot under the big tree where they won't be too visible from the little hut. Hannibal goes down on his knees before Will and looks up at him. “Yes?” he says.

“You never asked before,” Will complains. His voice sounds strained and his fingers shake a little as he unfastens his shorts with rough tugs. 

Hannibal is on him instantly, delighted to find him half-hard already. Half-hard just because he was thinking about Hannibal’s mouth on him. 

It’s thrilling.

Will gasps and sways at the first long lick of Hannibal’s tongue down his shaft. “I don't think I can stand,” he says. He lets Hannibal pull him down into the soft grass, on his back, but leans up on his elbows, watching and waiting. His shorts are barely open enough for Hannibal to reach his cock, and that too makes Hannibal blind with lust. He leans over him and sucks him back into his mouth.

“Can you-" Will gasps above him. “Hannibal.”

“Hmm,” Hannibal says around him and feels him harden further. He pulls away slowly, the tip still between his lips, and looks up at Will. 

“Just make me come please.”

Hannibal pulls off entirely. “Will you let me do this again tonight?”

Will laughs, a strained breathy thing. He presses one palm to his face. “Okay.” He isn’t the kind of man to say something and not mean at least a little of it. Hannibal smiles and turns them, pulling Will up until he is kneeling over his chest. 

“Take as much time as you want then,” he says. “Or as little.” 

There is something deeply satisfying about seeing Will struggle to answer once again. Words don’t come to him even with his mouth wide open. He groans instead and presses his lips against Hannibal's. Hard and fast, teeth first then tongue. His hands find Hannibal's linen slacks and work roughly until he can press their bodies together, skin to skin.

Hannibal understands exactly how little words can express sometimes. 

He hopes his fists in Will’s hair are answer enough, or his legs around Will’s thighs, holding him close. Their rhythm is rough but steady. Hannibal breaks it when his hands find Will's naked ass and slap and grab. A stuttered cry fills the silence around them.

“I’m gonna come,” Will whispers between clenched teeth. When he leans up his eyes are wild. If he doesn't allow anything else for the rest of their lives, this is what Hannibal will remember: Will’s desperate and red mouth, his beautiful eyes, the way he can't seem to decide what it is he wants.

“I want to taste you,” Hannibal says to help him decide.

Will brings their bodies together one last time, then quickly lifts up, pulling his shorts and underwear down until they hang off one foot. “Here,” he whispers urgently, groaning when Hannibal opens his mouth and takes him in all at once.

Hannibal keeps his eyes on him, watching him watch, his flared nostrils and open panting mouth. A longing opens up in Hannibal's chest that he didn't think was possible. He sucks and swallows and holds on.

Around them the sound of nature and living things; the hum of insects, a bird song in the trees, the wet noise of Will pushing inside Hannibal’s mouth, his labored breaths as he does what nature equipped him to do — a basic yet beautiful song. 

Will’s belly is naked and vulnerable in the sun, the shirt pulled up in his own fist, out of the way so he can watch. 

He looks feral. 

Hannibal wants more even as he struggles to accept all of him at once. It’s a pity that he has to close his eyes against the sun as the wind moves the tree branches above them. But Will seems to like it. Hannibal can feel him shake. He clings to the scent of heated skin in his nose and mouth, the cool grass under his hands, and then Will is hesitating again.

As if there is any need for it.

“I’m close,” Will whispers in warning, and Hannibal puts his hands on Will’s flexing hips so he can’t pull away, digs his fingers in which makes Will give up on his shirt to brace himself over Hannibal with both hands and push a little deeper. 

Tears stream down Hannibal’s face. He fights for each breath but keeps Will close. He wonders if this too is something Will was denied. If pleasure is something he learned to take as little of as possible, as politely as possible. His life must’ve been an exercise of resisting, again and again. 

Hannibal wants to give him every single thing he desires.

Then there is no room in Hannibal’s head for anything other than the spurt of heat he feels at the back of his throat, the sharp gasp that falls from Will’s lips. 

He swallows again and again until Will has nothing more to give and pulls away all at once, spent. 

“Oh God,” he says shakily. 

Hannibal smiles, breathing hard and unmoving. He must look unacceptable — tears on his cheeks, sweat on his brow, mouth wet, and slacks still open. He should take care of that. His curiosity gains the upper hand once again, though. What does Will intend to do next now that he has taken what he wanted from him? 

Slowly Hannibal opens his eyes. He expects a lot; what he gets is Will pulling his clothes over his still wet softening cock and lying down next to him. He keeps his hips turned away, but his hand goes between Hannibal's thighs, on his cock. Quick and decisive, as if to spare himself from second thoughts.

It's a pity that Hannibal can't hold on any longer. But Will is close enough to smell, watching his own hand move up and down Hannibal's erection. Even if he wanted to hold back, Hannibal couldn't resist the pull. His mind is flooded with pleasure first, ready for it after waiting so long even if his body isn't. That comes a little later; a deep rush of release, a shudder he can't suppress. 

“Fuck,” Will whispers.

Hannibal floats. Everything happens at the edge of his consciousness — a quick clean-up, his clothes being pulled up, Will touching his cheek. 

_Time_ , Hannibal thinks. He wishes he could stop it.

“Did I break you?” Will asks after a while. 

Slowly, Hannibal sits up. “Many times,” he says.

They sit side by side, eyes closing occasionally in the breeze and the sun. The sweat on their skin dries slowly. When they stand, Will hands him something, and Hannibal realizes that he used the green silk handkerchief Hannibal bought to clean the worst of the mess he made. 

Hannibal folds it patiently and puts it in his pocket. He looks forward to a shower.

“I’ve got it,” Will says with a small smile when Hannibal picks up the paddles. 

Hannibal lies down in the boat, legs under Will’s bench. 

“I think you said something about tonight,” Will says as he starts steering the boat towards the white hut. “You sure about that?” 

Hannibal slaps his shin lightly, then leaves his hand there. “Tonight, I only need your patience.”

“I worry about that,” Will says.

When they reach the shore, the old man stands at the end of the porch, talking on the phone, his back turned to them. Will stops dead in his tracks as he sees him, his gaze following his every move, then going to the hut and its wide window that allows a good look inside. 

Hannibal watches, curious. 

The stillness on Will’s face disappears. He tears his gaze away and starts walking toward the stairs. For a moment, it felt like he was someone else entirely. Someone who merely looked a little like Will. Hannibal wonders what he saw.

Back at the car, Hannibal hands Will the keys, puts his sunglasses on and sinks into the passenger seat. “How did you get here?” he asks belatedly. 

“I walked,” Will says. At the look Hannibal gives him, he adds, “Needed to clear my head.”

“Is it clear now?”

Will shrugs and looks at the curving street before them.

“There is something wrong with him,” he says after a while.

Hannibal hums, remembering how closely the old man watched him that first time they met. 

A smile stretches his lips. He leans his head back and watches the blue sky. It feels like the beginning of an endless summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fingers in mouth bit was totally inspired by weconqueratdawn's amaaaaazing fic [Proxy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14369871)! Go read it if you haven't.


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